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Perfection is not possible. Rather, perfection as we would like to have it is not possible.
The word itself means, originally, "completed." So by definition, if you're still alive, it's not possible for you to be perfect.
We want our teachers to be perfect. But our teachers, all of them, are human. Some would say "flawed." But the proper term is human. One more man or woman moving from birth to death, and in that passage learning to love and to be loved. Some enlightened in a broad sense, some rather more narrowly. The best of them allow their humanity, and don't spend time trying to appear to be something they are not. They fall down in some way, then they stand up and make corrections in their behavior, in their approach, in their point of view, and they use their experience as a part of their teaching from then on. This is perfection. The perfection of a human proving themselves utterly human, while moving toward the ideal of utterly divine, and in full acceptance of the mess and the beauty that passage implies.
Today I will see myself filled with the divine, and forgive myself for not always knowing it.
Papier Mache Jaguar in Diego Rivera's Bedroom
Copyright © 2011 Jeff Kober
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